In the weeds...

I'm not a big fan of weeds. Weeds are full of ticks, snakes, and other creepy crawlies. Weeds grow uncontrollably. They overtake other plants. And when I walk among the weeds, I feel gross.

Which is why it has meant so much to me when people have walked in the weeds with us over the past sixteen years.

I took Luke's box out a few days before his birthday, but my emotions finally allowed me to look through it tonight. It's the box that contains many important things from his life: the stuffed animals he never got to snuggle, the blankets that no longer keep him warm, the booties that he never got to wear.

But Luke's box also contains some very cherished things. Things that helped us get through the terrible weeds in the days, weeks, and months after we lost him.

His box contains notes, mass cards, donation cards, and so much more.

Luke's box contains a copy of the homily that Father George shared at his funeral mass. This story still makes me tear up:

Luke's box contains notes, cards, mass intentions, and books. It contains the sleep 'n play he wore a few times and also the holy water that we kept from his baptism. It contains the program from his mass and the guest book from the funeral. It contains the most sacred words of love from friends and even strangers and the most precious pictures from children who were praying for our family.

Luke's box contains all of the cards from the hundreds of donations that were made in his memory. My mother and Nana took the time to collect all of the donation cards and tied them nicely together. There was so much kindness shown to our family and we are so thankful for the generosity that was shown in his memory.

I want to share these things with you because I want to show how many people were in the weeds with us sixteen years ago. How many people held us up while we trudged through the thick brush. Who walked with us as we faced the impossible. To those of you who took the journey with us sixteen years ago, I pray that you can look at these pictures and know that your love and support got us through the unimaginable. I hope that you can see how much even the smallest gesture meant to us. We saved these things for a reason: because they showed empathy, kindness, and love to a grieving family. 

And there are people who are still in the weeds with us. The people who visit his sacred place, because we do not live near. The people who donate to NICU families through Luke's Legacy Boxes. The people who pray for our family. The people who remember him. The people who say his name.

Our family is blessed.

Today, sixteen years from the day we last heard his voice, we are so very thankful for the people who we are blessed to call friends and family. We are thankful for those who walk in the weeds with us.

Walk through the weeds. Don't fear what you may face in the weeds. Walk through them. Because even in the weeds, there is beauty. 

And that beauty is love.

Happy angel day, precious Luke Thomas. 

I am honored to walk through the weeds to celebrate the miracle of your life.

I had to share the picture above, because he is wearing the he sleep 'n play that is in his box.

Sixteen years old.

 

Do not complain about growing old. It is a privilege denied to many.

-Mark Twain

Sixteen years have gone by since we first saw his beautiful face and heard his tiny cry. 

So many things have happened since Luke was born. And there are so many things that he has missed since we lost him.

The Haberkids have reached some important milestones this year. Emily turned 21, and enjoys being legal. Matthew started school at the University of Georgia and is thriving. James started high school and is now almost as tall as Matthew.

But Luke.

Luke is forever 5 and a half weeks old. He will never reach these milestones.

I think about all of the experiences that Em, Matt, and James have had thus far in their lives, and all of the things that Luke will never have the opportunity to experience,

Luke never laughed. He never learned how to walk or how to talk. Luke didn't learn how to swim or ride a bike. He will never graduate high school. He will never go to college.

And this year. His sixteenth year. 

I won't take pictures of Luke sitting in a car. I won't feel my eyes well up with tears as I watch my baby boy drive away toward a new independence.

These are all things we take for granted. Natural milestones in our lives.

But there are other things that happen as we get older. Things that aren't milestones as much as they are life experiences.

Luke will never feel the sand between his toes, nor the feeling of waves in the ocean. He won't feel the nerves that come with final exams, or the fear that comes with forgetting to do homework.

Luke won't know the butterflies that come with falling in love. And he won't experience the pain of heartbreak.

Luke won't have the opportunity to get on one knee and ask for forever.

He won't ever be a father.

He won't give us grandchildren.

No, none of these things will happen for Luke. 

And we won't be able to experience life with him. We will always be missing an important piece of the Haberman puzzle.

As much as our hearts break for what Luke is missing, we find peace in what he has in heaven. He is surrounded by loved ones. He is in the arms of Jesus and Mary.

Luke is whole. He is not hurting. He is happy. I believe this with all of my heart.

And that is what I need to remember in the midst of my grief: that no matter what sadness I have for what Luke has missed, he is fortunate in that he has only ever known love.

Grieving the loss of a child is a process, it begins on the day your child passes and ends the day the parent joins them.

-BJ Karrer